


See You Soon

by AkozuHeiwa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, I'm Sorry, Infection, Medical Inaccuracies, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Angst, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark-centric, seriously guys this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkozuHeiwa/pseuds/AkozuHeiwa
Summary: Based on a Tumblr post.The thing is, when Tony feels the fever and infection start to set in, his first thought is, good. Good, because for some reason, out of everyone that was on Titan, out of the supposed galactic heroes and the wizard who could see the future and Peter, the universe let Tony live and it shouldn’t have.(Or, Tony's stab wound is infected and the hallucinations begin.)





	See You Soon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheltie26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheltie26/gifts).



The thing is, when Tony feels the fever and infection start to set in, his first thought is, _good_. Good, because for some reason, out of everyone that was on Titan, out of the supposed galactic heroes and the wizard who could see the future and _Peter_ , the universe let Tony live and it shouldn’t have.

But he lets the girl – Nebula? Was that her name? Like a baby star or like a dead one, it could go either way but he was leaning towards the latter because wow, that stare could murder, and he’s way off topic. He lets Nebula try to help him because he doesn’t want to leave her alone, that wouldn’t be fair to her. The problem is, Nebula knows very little about humans.

“Didn’t you have a human on your little team?” he asks, wincing as she prods at the red skin around the stab wound.

“Quill was half planet,” she replies, then jabs him.

“Ow!” he yelps. “Gentle, I’m not half – did you just say planet? Please tell me you didn’t just say planet.”

“His father was a planet that wanted to take over the universe.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond to that, but he can’t even think of something sarcastic because it’s that weird, so he shuts it and shakes head. Instead, he says, “Okay, well, do you have anything to clean the wound? We should’ve done this earlier, but, oh, well.”

“No,” she says.

“Great, okay, how are you all not–” he stops abruptly. Nebula flinches imperceptibly. “Okay. Well, this might get… bad, then. You don’t have any alcohol?”

Her eyes narrow. “You want to pour alcohol on your wound?”

“You have some?”

“Maybe. Quill enjoys – enjoyed it. It’s hard to come by, since on many planets it is a deadly poison,” she says.

“Poison, yes, deadly, no,” says Tony. “God knows I’ve drunk enough to kill me twenty times over. Alcohol! Good, if you find some, bring it here. To clean the wound. Also because _I_ need a drink.”

She nods and walks off. In the back of his head, a voice that sounds like Bruce tells him this is a bad idea, but, hey, if alcohol can disinfect stuff why not a stab wound?

Once he’s alone, he cranes his head to examine the wound himself. It’s gory. He’s had worse, but that doesn’t make this look any less bad and gross, and even with whatever space vodka Nebula can find, the infection might just kill him. It’s a shame. Pepper’s probably waiting for him, unless she – nope, no, not going down that path. He sighs and leans back again, resting his head against the cold metal. It’s all his nightmares rolled into one horrifying reality.

He’s in space.

His kid is gone.

And he could have done space if Peter were here. Peter thought space was _cool_. If he were here, he’d be rambling about who-knows-what and Tony could listen to him and zone out and appreciate that at least the universe offered him this kindness. Except Peter’s gone, shattered into dust in his arms, whispering apologies and leaving Tony alone.

Nebula strides back into the room and shoves a bottle at him.

“There’s not much, but use as much as you want,” she says. “Quill’s not around to care, anyway.”

That feels callous, but she’s right, if blunt. Tony unscrews the lid and pours the alcohol on the wound, which was a bad idea because it burns and Tony grits his teeth and lets out a strangled cry of pain. Nebula steadies his hands.

“I should have listened to the Bruce in my head,” he grits out. Nebula gives him a weird look – the most emotion he’s seen out of her so far. He waves her off, then tries to take a swig of the bottle.

It’s empty.

Figures.

He hands the bottle back to Nebula. His wound is still burning. He wishes Bruce were here. Or a real doctor. Or Peter. He really wishes Peter were here.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” he says.

Nebula nods. She leaves, and Tony is alone again.

At least in his dreams, Peter is alive.

 

 

When Tony next wakes, he knows he’s sick. He can feel the fever burning hot and the weakness trembling under his skin. He hovers a shaky hand over the bandages and feels the heat radiating through them, not a good sign, a very bad sign, actually.

As he goes back to sleep, he thinks first of Peter, Peter who’s gone. Then of Pepper, back on Earth.

It’s always Pepper.

 

 

Pepper is sitting beside him, lips downturned and eyes dark. Tony blinks groggily at her. Part of him is sure he’s dreaming. Part of him doesn’t care; he’s too relieved to see her.

“You left us,” she says.

Tony’s breath leaves him in a sharp gasp. He swallows. “Pep, I–”

“You left us,” she says, and she rests a hand on his midsection and Tony feels like all the air has been pulled from his body. He reaches out, arm shaking, but he can’t reach her.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

_I dreamt we had a kid. It was so real._

“You left us,” she says again. Then, before his eyes, she crumbles. It starts with her legs, then her torso – the baby, the dream, it was _so real_ – then the rest of her, dissolved into dust and leaving her accusation echoing in the ship. Tony’s eyes burn. Not Pepper too, not Pepper.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, arm dropping because he’s lost all energy to move it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

No apology will ever be enough.

 

 

“Mr. Stark.”

Tony blinks awake again. His vision is blurred, wet, confused, and it takes him a second to make out the figure beside him.

“Peter,” he dares to breathe. “Peter, kid.”

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” says Peter. He sounds tired and sad. Peter shouldn’t ever be sad.

“You’re okay,” Tony says. For a second, he forgets. Peter is there. Peter is safe. Peter is alive.

“No, Mr. Stark, I’m not,” says Peter.

Tony shakes his head. “You’re okay, kid, I’m – I’m gonna protect you.”

“You didn’t.”

Peter might as well have punched him in the gut. Tony chokes and stammers useless, horrified syllables. Peter’s face is emotionless and cold. His eyes look dead. Tony tries to start breathing again, but it isn’t working right, not with Peter staring at him like that.

“I’m just a kid, Mr. Stark,” Peter continues, as if Tony doesn’t _know that_ , doesn’t know that he _fucked up_ bringing a kid into all of this. “I was just a kid.”

“No, no, Peter,” Tony begs. “Please, Peter, please.”

When he blinks, Peter is gone. There’s someone placing a wet rag over his forehead. Nebula’s face filters into view. She looks as stony as usual, but there’s something in her eyes that might be sympathy.

“Your son isn’t here,” she murmurs, “but he wouldn’t blame you. You seem like a good father.”

“Peter,” he whimpers pitifully. A good father doesn’t let his kid turn to dust in his arms. A good father would have prevented this. If Tony was a good father, Peter would be alive on Earth.

“I’m sorry,” Nebula says.

The world fades back out of focus and all Tony can think about is how he failed his kid.

 

 

Peter’s there.

He stands there, fiddling awkwardly with his hands. He’s wearing the first t-shirt Tony ever got him, the one that’s too big and says, “I survived my trip to NYC”. He’s smiling but his eyes are sad. Tony can’t stand to see his kid sad.

“Pete,” he whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “Dad.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath. His heart warms, like it does every time Peter slips up and calls him Dad, except this time it wasn’t a slip-up, it was purposeful. He smiles.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Peter says.

“No, no, why are you sorry?” asks Tony. “Come here – come on, we’re there, kid, we’re there.”

He tries to shift to make room, to give Peter that hug he’s always wanted, but his body ignores him. He frowns; he feels weak and feverish. He manages to lift a hand to cup Peter’s cheek, but Peter doesn’t come any closer.

“You did good, kid,” he says. “You always do.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Peter says.

Tony’s felt his heart stop a lot in his lifetime. It’s almost comical. But this – he’s heard this before – and he remembers and his heart stutters and stops and he can’t do this again.

“No,” he says.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“No, no.” Tony manages to raise another hand and grip Peter’s. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you. You hear? You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, eyes bright. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“No, kid, Peter, please,” Tony pleads, even as Peter’s feet vanish beneath him and Peter stumbles and falls, and Tony’s trying to support him even as the rest of the boy shatters with Tony’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Peter chokes out one last time.

“No,” Tony sobs. He’s all dust. He’s gone. Tony should have protected him. He failed. When his hands don’t start turning to dust next – when he realises he’s cursed with life – Tony chokes and makes a weak, hoarse sound of sorrow. His lips form Peter’s name, but no sound follows besides gasping sobs.

Fine. If the universe won’t do it, then fine. Let Death come to collect her Merchant. It’s about time.

Tony lets out a rough breath and refuses to take another.

 

 

Tony wakes up. He wasn’t supposed to, but he does. He shifts weakly to look at Nebula, hovering beside him.

“Your fever’s broken,” she says. “You cut it close, Stark. You weren’t breathing.”

“You revived me,” he says numbly. He wants to be angry, but something vulnerable shifts in her expression for a microsecond and he can’t find the energy or heart to be mad at her. She lost everything too.

“It might be for nothing,” she admits. “We’re… running out of supplies.”

He nods and waits until she leaves to break. He leans back and tries to ignore the dry, shaking sobs that wrack his frame, jolting the still painful stab wound from what feels like a lifetime ago. He’s out of water to cry, and he can’t waste any. Nebula will need it more than him. If that means he doesn’t make it home, that he gets to join Peter–

Good.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame my friend for this. This is her fault. 
> 
> But, yeah, here's 1.7k words of angst with no happy ending. And we all know how Endgame ends so... :) 
> 
> (Catch me sobbing in the corner)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
